


The Boys I Mean Are Not Refined

by likeasugarcube



Series: The Boys I Mean Are Not Refined [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Everyone Thinks They're Together, Hipster Steve Rogers, M/M, Pining, Punk Bucky Barnes, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1708208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeasugarcube/pseuds/likeasugarcube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Punk!Bucky/Hipster!Steve Coffeeshop AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boys I Mean Are Not Refined

**Author's Note:**

> When I said, "Talk to me about [this picture](http://pidgeyons.tumblr.com/post/86024389318/punk-bucky-and-his-tiny-hipster-boyfriend-3) at length, I wish to write the fic," [makingthenoise](http://makingthenoise.tumblr.com/) responded with "Hipster Steve is totally into sustainable urban living and is concerned about gentrification. He volunteers at the local Y and teaches kids how to make art. Punk Bucky is a radical anti-capitalist poet." Because she is great.

Steve’s alarm goes off at 5am. He gropes blindly for his glasses, rolls of the futon and sleepily stumbles downstairs to the kitchen. Natasha is already awake. Or possibly still awake. It’s always a little hard to tell. She’s seated comfortably at the kitchen table with a mug in one hand and the other on her laptop.

“Morning, sunshine,” she says without looking up from the article she’s reading.

“Morning,” Steve says around a yawn.

He pops two slices of cinnamon raisin bread into the toaster and pours himself a glass of orange juice.

“Up early or didn’t sleep?” he asks when he sits down across from her.

She glances up from her laptop and shrugs like that’s an answer. Natasha works freelance IT and could probably buy a small mansion somewhere upstate but instead chooses to live with three dudes in Brooklyn. Steve doesn’t ask why, he just enjoys her company.

He eats his toast quietly and listens to the sound of her fingers tapping against her keyboard. When he’s done he puts his dishes in the sink and goes upstairs to get dressed for work. He throws on the closest pair of jeans and pulls his red and grey flannel out of the closet. The high is supposed to be sixty-five today, but Steve’s always cold. He grabs his red scarf off the dresser just in case. Across the room, feet hanging off of his twin bed, Bucky makes a snuffling sound in his sleep and rolls over. Steve shakes his head. He likes his job but he envies Bucky’s ability to sleep in seven days a week. Steve is up with the sun even on his days off.

He passes Natasha on his way back downstairs.

“Are you gonna be around for dinner? Sam found a new recipe for vegetarian lasagna I want to try.”

“Sure thing, babe.” She smiles and kisses the top of his head. “Have a good day at work.”

Steve pretends he isn’t blushing as he pulls on his bike helmet and continues down the stairs. It’s a twenty minute bike ride to work and Steve loves every minute of it. This winter was a long one and hell on his asthma. He’s never been so glad for spring to finally arrive.

Five days a week he works the opening shift at Scones and Stripes, a coffee shop in Williamsburg. He started there part time as a barista when he was at Pratt and now he’s basically a manager. The bachelor’s degree hanging up in his apartment looks nice but it hasn’t really helped him pay the rent. Steve doesn’t mind too much. 

The last year or so, Mr. Erksine has been spending more time at home with his grandkids, only comes in two days a week to do the ordering and bookkeeping. He leaves Steve in charge of everything else. Scones and Stripes has its share of dedicated regulars and Steve knows them all by name. He doodles on napkins during his breaks and does latte art for the people he likes the best. It’s a pretty good job as far as food service goes.

He gets to work with five minutes to spare. He unlocks the door and turns off the alarm. He tosses his keys on the counter and hangs his messenger bag up in the backroom. It’s work, but it’s also his home away from home. 

Darcy shows up a half an hour later. She’s a political science major at NYU and has a wicked sense of humor. She hasn’t been around as much the past few months since she started interning for an astrophysicist. She puts the 80’s station on Pandora and dances around to Madonna as she sets up the bakery.

Time passes quickly in the mornings. Customers trickle in until about seven-thirty, and then the trickle becomes a deluge. Before he knows it’s, it’s almost noon. They’ll have about a half an hour of downtime before the lunch rush starts. Wade walks through the door thirteen minutes past when he was scheduled.

“What’s up, party people?” he asks as he walks behind the counter.

“You’re late,” Darcy says. She hands a bag of pastries to Ralph, a banker who works down the block and turns towards Wade, awaiting a response.

“Yeah, and?”

Darcy has to stand on her tiptoes to slap him upside the head before she greets the next customer. Wade has never once shown up on time for a shift as far as Steve knows, but he’s also never missed one. He’s never sick and always has the energy of three people. Steve puts him on cash because if there’s one thing Wade loves to do it’s talk.

The lunch rush is brutal, but Wade flirts with the crankiest customers until they leave with a smile. Steve starts making drinks and doesn’t step away from the barista station until it’s almost time for him to leave. He steps away to grab a rag to clean up the wreckage when the phone rings. It’s Peter, the second mid-shift guy. It’s twenty minutes before his shift and he’s calling off. His excuse smells like bullshit, but Steve’s too nice to call him on it. Peter’s a photo major and Steve remembers what it was like being in art school.

The next person doesn’t come in for another hour. Steve had really wanted to go home and get a nap in before dinner but he isn’t getting out on time today, he can see that already. Once the counters are cleaned and the cups restocked, they have a moment to breath. The hours between two and four are another dead period. It’s not until folks start getting out of work that it picks up again.

“Get the hell out of here, Rogers,” Darcy tells him. “It’s after two.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “Peter called off.”

“Son of a bitch,” Darcy says. 

It’s a little too loud to be work appropriate. Steve glances quickly around to make sure there’s no little old ladies or small children in the cafe. Thankfully, they’re safe.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say about his dearly departed mother, Darcy,” Wade adds.

“It’s fine,” Steve says. “It’s not like I have anything else going on.”

“No.” Darcy has her hands on hips and her “I mean business” look on her face. “You stayed the last time. And the time before that. I get to be the self-sacrificing one this time.”

Steve frowns at her.

“I’ll leave when Sharon gets here,” he says. He thinks it’s a good compromise.

Darcy huffs off towards the stockroom for reasons unknown and Steve shrugs. He sends a text to Bucky to let him know he’ll be an hour late and grabs a stack of dishes from the bus tub.

\--

Steve's in the middle of a conversation with one of his favorite regulars when Bucky walks in. He grins as soon as he catches sight of Steve. He's obviously come straight from work, hair pulled back into a ponytail and a smear of grease on the side of his chin. The look that Darcy and Wade share when they see him doesn’t escape Steve’s notice. He knows he’s going to catch shit for this.  
“I’ll catch you tomorrow, okay, Larry?” 

“Of course, Steve, of course.” Larry claps him on the shoulder. “You have a nice evening. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Thanks, Larry.”

Steve makes a round in the café, collecting stray dishes and picking up dirty napkins that didn’t make their way to the garbage can. Bucky makes a beeline for him but doesn’t say anything, just waits to be acknowledged.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Steve says with a serious face. “We don’t serve dirty punks here.”

He can’t even get through the whole sentence before Bucky smiles at him and he starts laughing.

“Shut up, asshole.”

“Watch your language, jerk. This is a family friendly establishment.”

Bucky just shakes his head. A stray piece of hair falls out of his messy ponytail. Steve reaches up to tuck it behind his ear. He rubs away smudge on the side of Bucky’s chin with a brush of his thumb and immediately feels self-conscience. He just hopes Darcy isn’t actively staring. 

“You had some grease,” Steve explains. Bucky shrugs.

“I figured.”

He’s totally going to catch shit for this.

“So what’s up?”

“I got off early,” Bucky says. “I thought we could swing by that fruit market you like and get some stuff for dinner.”

“Just give me a minute, okay?”

Bucky nods and Steve reaches back to untie his apron. Darcy follows him as he walks into the back.

“I wish my boyfriend would come pick me up at work,” she says casually. Steve should know better than to take the bait, but he keeps hoping one day he’ll get through to her. 

“One,” he says, “Bucky and I are still not dating and two, you don’t even have a boyfriend.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Darcy says, crossing her arms over her chest.

She crosses her arms over her chest and it makes her boobs look even more amazing than they already are. He tries not to notice because he’s technically her boss, but honestly. He’s got a pulse. He notices. He tosses his apron into the laundry, slings his messenger bag over his shoulder and grabs his scarf from off the coat hook.

“Shut up,” he says, trying not to sound as flustered as he feels. He pushes past her and packages up a couple of pastries so they’ll have something for tomorrow’s breakfast. He shoves the box into Bucky’s hands as he leaves. “Let’s go.”

\--

The fruit market is only a few blocks away. They walk their bikes and Bucky tells him about his day. Bucky works as a mechanic at a non-profit bike shop, fixing up donated used bikes for resale. He’s been there for a few years now, almost as long as Steve has been at the coffee shop. 

“I’m in charge of the fundraiser we’re having next month,” Bucky says. “So if you could whip up some flyers, that would be awesome. I can probably get Nick to pay you in store credit,”

“You know I’d do it for free right?”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to.”

Steve shrugs. It’s not an untrue statement, but Steve will always make exceptions for Bucky. They’ve been best friends since they were eight years old. As far as Steve is concerned, this kind of thing comes with the territory. If he’s being brutally honest with himself, sometimes he feels guilty that he ended up with a useless degree when Bucky had to drop out of college. He’d been going to Columbia for engineering when his financial aid ran out. Without any parents to cosign his loans, there weren’t many other options. 

Steve’s pretty sure he could get a better paying job at one of the other bigger shops in the city, but Bucky’s made it clear he has no intention of leaving as long as they’re still in business. He always says he likes his job and feels good about the work he does. That’s not something Steve can really argue with. Besides, the shop is around the corner from their place and that’s about as convenient a job as either of them are ever going to get.

They lock up their bikes outside the fruit market and Bucky grabs a basket by the door. Steve picks up a pound of mushrooms, some squash and a bunch of fresh parsley for their dinner. He enjoys cooking for the house, it’s really the only time all four of them get together at the same time. 

“What do you want tomorrow night?” he asks. 

It’s his day off which means he has zero plans for leaving the apartment. If he doesn’t get ingredients now, they’re having leftovers. Bucky shrugs because he’s useless at making decisions and they wander down the aisles aimlessly. Bucky throws an arm over his shoulders while he’s comparing bottles of olive oil and plays with the ends of his scarf.

“Sometime today, Rogers.”

Bucky smells like grease and sweat and Steve will probably have to force him to take a shower before dinner. Even still, the thought crosses his mind -- however briefly -- that he could just turn his head and bury his face in Bucky’s chest. It’s stupid and Bucky would laugh at him if he knew, but his most comforting memories are of falling asleep, the two of them huddled in his twin bed on days when he was home from school sick. 

Okay, maybe he can understand why Darcy gives him so much grief. But they’ve been living in each other’s pockets since before Steve’s mom died and Steve never thought it was weird until someone pointed it out. And no, it hasn’t escaped his notice that his best friend is hot, and yeah, Steve’s thought about it before. But he’s also pretty sure that Bucky has never had a serious relationship as long as he’s known him.

“How about those calzones you made last week? Those were awesome.”

They were also easy and cheap. Steve adds a carton of eggs to the basket and doubles back to the produce section for a bunch of spinach. They move through the line quickly and Steve mentally calculates the cost of everything in his head. But before the cashier can even read him his total, Bucky produces a few crumbled bills from his pocket and hands them over.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Steve asks. He tries to grab the money back but it’s already in the cashier’s hands. She shrugs and punches a button on the register. 

“You bought groceries last time,” Bucky says. Steve is almost certain that’s a lie. 

There was a time in the not too distant past, when Steve was still in school and Bucky was working his way through a string of shitty jobs, when fresh vegetables and a stocked fridge had become a luxury. They don’t talk about it much now that they’ve both steady incomes and a more stable roof over their heads, but Steve hasn’t forgotten the six months that they basically lived off day old bagels and danishes. He doesn’t think Bucky has either. 

They split up the groceries between their bikes and Steve answers a text from Sam about whether or not he should pick up wine for dinner. Yes, the answer is always yes.

“Race you home?” Bucky asks with a grin as he pulls on his helmet.

“Sure, challenge the asthmatic to a race.”

Bucky laughs and takes off down the street. Steve adjusts his helmet and doesn’t try to catch up. They’ll meet up at home, that much he knows.


End file.
